


Pretty Perfect

by BeyondtheKilljoy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drag Queen Stiles Stilinski, Feels, M/M, Nice Peter, POV Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4442624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeyondtheKilljoy/pseuds/BeyondtheKilljoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kneeling there on the floor, surrounded by his clothes and makeup, Stiles looked up at Peter. Peter tried his best not to let anything show on his face, like how his hands itched to touch the boy, or his very core felt molten. Stiles parted his soft lips, his eyes wide and his cheeks pink. “Make me like you want me.” He whispered. “Make me your doll.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>...Or the one where Stiles is a drag queen who happens to like letting Peter do his makeup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE NOTE!!!! I am not part of the drag community, though I have many friends who are a part. Nevertheless, I tried to be as accurate as possible, and as realistic as possible. 
> 
> If anything I say/wrote in here does not settle well with you/is misinformation, feel free to leave a comment below! Also, leave a comment if you just liked it as well. 
> 
> WHAT I DO NOT WANT: Please, please, please, I just told you I could be wrong about this and I don't mean to be. If you critique my work, please remember I am a human with a noodle soul that doesn't want to hurt by harsh words. Be kind with you critiques. 
> 
> Also, Misio is Polish for "little bear" or "teddy bear" (It shows up as something different in google translate, I know).

Peter never regretted taking Stiles on as his main queen. He put his drag name in everywhere - new, beautiful, funny, Misio - and always made sure she had a place to perform every weekend. 

He slightly thought that he might have rushed Misio, and that worried him. She never failed to fall out on to the stage, smiling and making her crowd laugh but Peter noticed the deer quiver in her legs. He didn’t like it. 

Which is what led him to checking on Misio before the show, seeing her completely losing it. She had a beautiful halter top and floor length skirt on, plus a lovely red wig, but she lacked makeup. 

“Are you okay, love?” He asked from the door frame. She was sitting at her table, staring at her shaking hands. “Is there anything I can help you with?” 

Misio flicked her eyes up to him, the amber hues looking vulnerable. “I’m just really nervous.” She licked her chapped lips, and Peter wanted her to stop doing that. Not only was it distracting, but when she had lipstick on, it would make it easier for lipstick to get on her teeth. “My hands won’t stop shaking. I mean, they usually won’t but like, it’s never been this bad. I need to do my makeup.”

She looked distraughtly in the mirror, bottom lip poking out. She’s your employer, not someone to fuck, Peter thought angrily. “Mr. Hale,” Her voice sounded sugary-sweet, the way she sounded when she was flirting with the audience. The longer she wore the dress, the less she seemed like Stiles and more like Misio. “Do you know how to apply makeup?” 

Peter groaned inwardly, at how lost she sounded. She was truly a masterpiece. “What type of manager would I be if I didn’t know how to help my queen?” She smiled so brightly, it squeezed something in Peter’s chest. He looked down at his watch, and they only had thirty minutes before she had to go on. “Do you want it dark or light.” 

“How about bold lips, and eyes?” She fluttered her eyes, basically calling him over without saying a word. 

“Okay,” Peter said. He couldn’t help but notice how tight Misio was holding her hands together. 

He picked up the base first, dusting across her smooth features. He wanted to make sure that her moles - those gorgeous moles - were visible. As he smoothed it in, Misio leaned her head up and closed her eyes. 

Watching the way she let herself fall into his hands was...something that Peter didn’t have time for at that moment. He couldn’t let himself think about how trusting her features were, how her lips parted slightly and her breathing dipped lower. He set to quickly contour her face, giving Misio high cheeks and the illusion of an even more narrow jaw. Her creamy skin was a treasure, and how smooth it was was like a dream. He added a light blush, knowing that when Misio got herself going, she would flush up like a tomato. 

Peter moved on to her eyes, the dark eyelashes faded to blonde fluttered when he moved to make the outline. The curve moved close up to her eyebrows, a dangerous bend that was as bold as her jokes. He knew that the black would bring out her amber eyes, showed the way they flashed and melted. His biggest concern was putting on her eyelashes. 

But it all went flawlessly, and finally Peter only had the lipstick left. God, Misio’s lips. He didn’t tell her he had finished her eye makeup, she still fluttered her eyes up. He paused, caught with how intent she stared at him. Her lips opened slightly more, an invitation. 

It was a deep red, one of Peter’s favorites. He suddenly was struck with how he hadn’t asked if she wanted a certain lash, or a type of wing, but she didn’t seem to care. He dragged it across the middle of her bottom lip, it’s matte color dragging her lip with it. It painted her like a sin to him, a beautiful piece of forbidden fruit. He didn’t even realize he was breathing through his mouth until he took a step back. 

Misio looked dazed for a moment, blinking lazily up at him. Finally, she seemed to clear her head enough to realize he was done. She turned to face the mirror, staring at her reflection. Peter didn’t see a hair out of place, or a smudge of makeup anywhere wrong. “I’m beautiful.” She breathed out. 

“Aren’t you always?” Peter asked smugly, before glancing at the time. “Okay, we have to go get you on stage, you’ve got to go.” He made shooing motions with his hands. 

She didn’t even argue like she usually did. And as she swished past him, he had the urge to thank her.  
\--  
It became a regular thing, where Misio began to even lay out what she wanted him to put on her. Usually it was bright pinks and strange eyeliner tones, but it matched on her. And Peter always found himself lost, mouth dry, body hot with how she gave herself over. 

It shouldn’t have been as compelling as it was. 

She began to do weekday shows too, and Peter got to meet a few of her friends. Scott, a goofy boy, who stared at Misio when she was in drag, like she was a different being. Peter did his best to advise the boy on how to act around her, so that way he didn’t offend her. 

And then there was Kira, the thoughtful girlfriend of Scott’s who only came along to support them. She seemed too clumsy to be backstage, so he quickly sent her to a seat. 

The last one he met was Lydia, a girl who would enchant his heart if he inclined towards females. Misio whispered in his ear about how she was the one who helped him with his fashion sense, and bought him his first few dresses and wigs and heels. Of course, Peter had to thank her on her marvelous work, which she took flawlessly.

He felt like when he met them it was a test, not from Misio - who made friends with everyone and connected to all - but from Stiles. It felt like it was less from his character, and more like the queer boy who contacted Peter seven months ago.  
\--  
It was one of the few Saturdays he had off. Stiles had requested no shows, and the rest of his queens had parties they wanted to attend. He was relaxing in his apartment, reading an old history book. 

He enjoyed the quiet time he had alone, even if images of Misio flitted across his mind. Peter wasn’t going to let that distract him from his read on the Renaissance. But a text message might. 

Queen 1: Let me in.

Misio was here? No, she probably was drunk texting again. He remembered the last time she mistook his number for Isaac’s and blew up his phone over how Jules had stolen her spotlight. 

He didn’t want to say he dropped Isaac for that, more like carefully handed him over to another manager to keep his queen happy. He got up and stretched slowly, walking over to his door. It probably didn’t hurt to check.

And there was Stiles standing outside. 

He had on a pair of short shorts, and a tee-shirt. He had a duffel bag? Peter opened the door wordlessly, already preparing himself for what Stiles was going to unload on him. 

“Hello, princess.” He smiled warmly, watching the way Stiles stared up at him with doe eyes. “How are you tonight?” 

“I’m okay, Mr. Hale.” He licked his lips again, and ugh, Peter had been trying to break that habit for months. “How are you?” 

“I’m good, just wondering how I could be so lucky to be graced by a visit from my favorite queen.” 

He could see Stiles blush, a faint pink from his neck up. “I just...I wanted to try something.”

“Something new for your show?” That would make sense, checking it with his manager.

Stiles shook his head, leading Peter into the living room. “No, something, something new for us.” He made an aborted motion with his hands between them, and Peter felt a pique in his curiousity. “Is that alright?” 

Peter splayed his hands. “Of course, love. Just tell me what you want.” His heart beat sped up, wanting whatever his queen did. 

When did he fall for Misio - for Stiles?

Stiles seemed to think that showing was better than speaking, or maybe he couldn’t find the words. He slung off the duffel bag, letting it land with a soft thud. “Go on,” Peter encouraged. He didn’t want Stiles getting cold feet now. “Open it.” 

Stiles crouched beside the bag, slowly unzipping it. Some fabric poked out of the top, and Stiles gently pulled it out. 

Two dresses, four blouses, two halter tops and four skirts. A corset. Peter was very confused with the turn of events, a thought prowling around in his mind that he kept a bay. Then Stiles pulled out the makeup. 

Kneeling there on the floor, surrounded by his clothes and makeup, Stiles looked up at Peter. Peter tried his best not to let anything show on his face, like how his hands itched to touch the boy, or his very core felt molten. Stiles parted his soft lips, his eyes wide and his cheeks pink. “Make me like you want me.” He whispered. “Make me your doll.” 

A small groan bit out of Peter as he walked unsteadily forward. This should not have felt this way. It was intimate, yes, but Peter found it that way in more ways than one. Stiles kept his position on the floor, looking up hopefully. Peter made a mental note to let Stiles know he was just as lovely out of drag.

Peter dragged a hand down Stiles’ cheek to cup his jaw. “Anything I want?” 

He could feel the dip as Stiles’ nodded his head, and Peter let his thumb trace his bottom lip before pressing inside. Stiles swiped across the pad of his thumb with his tongue. Peter pressed down against the wet heat of the muscle, feeling rather than hearing Stiles’ appreciative hum. 

Peter broke eye contact for a second, because he had to check - he had to know. And yes, those boy shorts left nothing to the imagination, that Stiles was hard and straining against his clothing. Peter’s mouth felt dry. 

“Then strip.” He managed to rasp out. Peter couldn’t believe he also managed to extract his thumb from within Stiles’ mouth, even if Stiles gave it a quick bite on the way out. Stiles didn’t hesitate to gather himself shakily to his feet, and pull of his shirt. When he got to his pants, his hands hesitated on the buckle. Peter didn’t waver in the way he stared hungrily at him, left no room for doubt. 

Stiles stepped out of his shoes and socks first. And then he got rid of the rest.

Peter knew, objectively, that Stiles must have had more moles. He hadn’t had the need to see Stiles in less clothes than his audience had before and had never really seen all of them. Like the one dotted his hip, with lighter ones tracing up his chest.

He also knew, objectively, that even though Stiles’ pulled off Misio very well, he had a dick. He just wasn’t expecting to see it. Or want to as bad as he did, as it flushed from pink to red at the tip, standing up and away from him. Peter circled him, letting Stiles stand still. Well, except for the deer quiver in his legs.

“Stiles, have you ever tried to tuck while erect?” He asked conversationally. His heart was pounding a thousand miles a minute though. 

“No, sir.” Stiles said, his voice going an inch higher. Peter liked that, liked how arousal didn’t deepen his voice. 

“Well, most queens say it’s impossible.” Peter shrugged. “Or, at least, very painful.” 

He was right behind Stiles know, and he stepped up until he felt the heat of his back. “So, what should we do about that?” 

Peter didn’t touch it, knowing that he needed consent. Consent was important, hetero or homo. He let his hand form a loose ring right in front of Stiles’ cock, close enough that Stiles could fuck into it. His other hand held tight to Stiles’ hip, holding over the mole. “Fix it.” 

“How?” Peter asked innocently. 

“Mr. Hale, please.” Stiles whispered. Peter could see his chest reddening from his position. The poor boy was embarrassed. 

“You have to say what you want, love.” Peter chided. “Consent always has to be verbal.”

“I want you touch me.” Stiles said softly, timidly.

Peter smiled. The boy was so demure it was adorable. “I am, princess.” 

Stiles made a frustrated sound. “I want, Mr. Hale, I want,” Stiles couldn’t seem to voice it. Peter waited patiently, even if he really wanted to rut his erection into Stiles’ ass. “I want you to fuck me with your hand.” He finally rushed the words out, pulling in on himself a little.

“How about you fuck yourself on my hand?” Peter asked coyly. He kept his hand still, mere inches away from the boy’s dick. He watched as a drop of precome leaked out when Stiles twitched. Oh, he liked the idea too. Stiles nodded frantically. 

Peter moved his hand up, which made Stiles whimper. He held it right up to his face, one word almost too much for him to say. “Lick.” 

Stiles’ tongue was rough, trying to reach every edge of his fingers and palm. It was overeager, messy, everything that Stiles was. Peter just didn’t want to hurt him, so as soon as he felt it safe, he pulled away his hand. Stiles staggered back, brushing against Peter’s chest. 

It stole his breath. 

Peter put a loose ring at the head of his cock, the faintest touch connecting them. He was breaking down every wall he put up for himself, every rule he made broken, every bridge burned over his queen. 

“Go ahead,” He breathed. He was right there at Stiles’ neck, could almost see his pulse. Stiles kept still, which made Peter sigh. He was such a fast learner everywhere else. Peter took his grip on Stiles’ hip and used it to push him forward, harshly, and then rip him back towards Peter’s torso. Stiles gasped, a groan slipping out as his torso bent down.

The way Stiles swayed like a willow tree made Peter rethink. “Can you do this, love?” 

His breath was ragged. “Please. Can you do it for me, Mr. Hale?” His voice was thin. 

Peter relaxed his grip, pulling his hand up to lay flat on his chest. Stiles’ heartbeat fluttered under his skin. Peter didn’t want to waste time on this, somehow seeing the endgame as more satisfying. He had grown addicted to finishing Misio’s look, placing her character perfectly on for the night, and now this was his night, and he didn’t just have to finish. He wanted to have her as he wanted her, as his. It fueled how he held Stiles, firm and steady, turning his wrist so that his nails dragged lightly on the bottom of his shaft, twisted at the base and curled tight. 

Stiles was already stuttering on his words, broken litanies of please and fuck, combining to make a beautiful chorus that was choked off at the last second. “Peter!” It was a sob, his muscle taut and eyes squeezed shut. Peter was certain hearing his name slip from those wet lips, for the first time, was enough to bring him to the breaking point.

Not that tonight he was going to be focused on himself. 

He let Stiles sink back to the carpet, come on the back of his hand and in strips across his chest. “Stay.” Peter said softly.

Stiles smiled up dazedly, tilting his head into Peter’s general direction. “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Hale.” It was fucked out sounding, lax and comfortable. Peter just wanted to get a wet rag to clean up the boy, before they started again, but he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

His eyes were what gave him away. He was just as wrecked as Stiles.

“My queen,” He called, walking in and handing him the rag. “Was there a certain thing you wanted to wear tonight?” Say no.

Stiles shook his head, seeming a lot more open than when he came in. “No, I want you to choose.” He looked back down, suddenly serious. “It’s all up to you.” 

Peter knew what he wanted the boy to wear. It was always going to be the floor length dress, flowing out as if he was a princess on the way to the ball. It was a gorgeous purple, that somehow complimented his amber eyes. Peter remembered it well, because he had been the one to buy it for Stiles.

It was the first thing he bought Stiles. 

“Did you bring some lingerie?” Peter asked calmly. He couldn’t tuck Stiles, if there was nothing to tuck him in. Stiles wordlessly produced a pair of spandex bikini bottoms, and Peter ushered him up. He pushed Stiles’ legs apart, his limp dick easy to push up towards his ass, settling each testicle on the opposite side. He held the spandex close to Stiles’ feet and let him get them around his ankles. Pulling it up, and tight on the ass was easier than Peter was expecting. Maybe it was having someone help. 

Stiles had found his hands on Peter’s back as he moved up his lingerie. Peter liked to think that he was his support. 

The corset was probably Peter’s least favorite thing to put on. It created curves on Stiles, eye-catching curves that had his heart beating fast, but the way he breathed in, as if it could be painful if he pulled too tight, made Peter’s mouth taste bad. It was a full torso black one, that Peter pulled in just so that it rid Stiles of his hog body. 

Then came the dress, and the wig, both long and flawless as they stayed in place. It was a blink, and Stiles was fading, Misio was here. She ducked her head, when he put on the wig, and he snatched her up by her chin. 

“Almost done, princess.” He chided. 

She looked away, blushing. “You won’t get makeup in my hair, right?” 

He laughed. “Have I ever got any in your hair?” He smoothed the bangs to the side, tugging on some strands to make sure it was sturdy. She smiled at him, back to trusting like that. 

And finally it was time for the makeup. Peter sighed as he lead Misio to the couch, she sinking gratefully on to the cushions. Her makeup still lay on the floor, and he picked up the necessities. She had beautiful skin. He didn’t think she needed much. 

The base was as smooth as the first time, softly blending to her tone, and spreading like sunset across the sky. Her head moved imperceptibly with his hand, following his touch. It was like she needed him.

As badly as Peter now needed her. 

He didn’t like the large wings as much as the dark eyes. He focused on a slight line of eyeliner that just barely stood against the dark purple and glitter that he smeared across her eyes. He felt Misio sigh as he touched her gently. 

He liked when she wanted to have her eyebrows darkened, because of how stark they were against the light skin. He gently traced them, adding a slight arch to the left, just to stay true to her character. 

He was still hypnotized by her lips with dark lipstick on. This time he put on a deep purple, but like a bad bruise the day after, it almost hurt him to look at. It was so tantalizing. And after her face was finished, while he stared at her sinfully full lips, he realized something. 

He never even kissed her. 

She still had her eyes closed, rather than staring up at him intently like the first time, like she was waiting on something. He let his fingers pull across her cheekbone, carefully giving her a second to pull away. 

Misio didn’t.

It was nothing more than a warm press against her lips, but just like she left her audience enthralled, he felt like she had stripped him bare. He pulled back slightly, to see her eyes opened and blank, before she smiled sweetly at him. She pulled him down to the cushions, where their knees bumped before Misio slipped away from him. 

Peter still felt intimately raw, and curious, when she slipped to her knees. Misio’s dress flowed around her, pooling on the floor. He almost gasped when she dipped her head onto his knees, pushing one arm between them.

She seemed content to stay, and his chest felt warm. 

Peter wasn’t sentimental. He was captured by her. 

He leaned down to pet her hair, and kiss her forehead. “My perfect little doll.” He whispered. His queen.


End file.
